Stealing God (10 page)

By the end of the century China was changing fast and ready to play its part as an economic superpower. In 1999 they got back Macau from the Portuguese and during the run-up to the final official handover it was noted by the government-controlled press that a senior Catholic cleric who had grown up in Macau but served all his priestly life in the People's Republic was visiting his family. That was Beijing's way of saying to the world that any member of the Catholic Church, even the unofficial Catholic Church, had the same freedom of action and movement as any other citizen who had served the Chinese people loyally and for so long. Now officially recognised, Archbishop Cheng was photographed with his family and local Communist officials.

Ricci had shown Jimmy a copy of a newspaper photo. In it there was a small, smiling man who looked shy and insignificant in clerical black but who, even in the news photo, gave an impression of deep inner peace and strength.

Archbishop Cheng's trip to Macau was a success and was the beginning of his official rehabilitation during which neither he nor the government ever referred to his years in prison. To the Vatican and to the Chinese government Cheng was a small piece in a long and hard-fought political chess game. After Macau the game had moved into a new phase and Cheng's role changed accordingly.

His visit to Rome figured widely in the national Chinese media, a signal to the people of China and to the West that a new tolerance was growing which could even encompass unofficial Catholic prelates. His return to Rome should have been the crowning moment of his rehabilitation but it didn't turn out that way. Not long after he arrived he fell ill and died two days later in what now could appear to be suspicious circumstances.

It was the end of another day. Ricci was sitting on the side of the bed. He put down his notes. Jimmy was in his pyjamas sitting on the chair beside his bed. He looked at the notes. A man's life in a few pages.

‘Poor old sod.'

‘Poor old sod indeed. As a Catholic I ask for divine mercy on his soul, as a rationalist I say that if there is a God he is at best indifferent to human suffering or at worst uses humanity as a plaything to service a rather nasty sense of humour. What do you think, or being a good Catholic don't you allow yourself to dwell on such things too much?'

‘I don't dwell on them at all. We die. God or no God it's the same for everyone.'

‘True.' Ricci left the metaphysics and moved on. ‘I reckon we've got all we're going to get on him, we know him as well as we're ever going to.'

Jimmy agreed.

‘So, who would want him dead?'

Ricci shook his head.

‘At the time of his death Archbishop Cheng was universally loved and respected, that's it, that's what everything I've read says.'

‘What about the autopsy?'

‘Checked and checked again. The results of the autopsy were inconclusive. The best guess is that the old man died of natural causes brought about by previous ill-treatment and general debility due to age. There's nothing I can find that might make him a target.' They sat in silence for a minute. Ricci reached down, ran his fingers through his pages of notes, and then looked back to Jimmy. ‘Maybe it was just a case of natural causes.'

‘It's all a load of fucking bollocks, that's what it is.'

There was no doubt in Ricci's mind that Jimmy was ready to be discharged. Inactivity may have made him irritable and angry in the way he expressed himself but Ricci wholeheartedly agreed with the essence of his assessment.

‘Well, if it's a murder it's the best one I've come across. No suspects, no motives, no hard evidence. No reason at all for it to have happened. Nothing.'

Jimmy let his anger rise. He always hated it when a case hit a brick wall.

‘What the hell are we supposed to be looking for? And why me? That's what sticks in my throat. Why drag me into this?'

‘To keep an eye on me?'

‘That doesn't stand up, they could have got a dozen locals to keep an eye on you if they'd wanted to. But you get told to bring me in on things and when we meet you don't like me …'

Ricci smiled his genuine smile.

‘I didn't know you then.'

‘You don't know me now. You only think you know me.'

‘Have it your own way.'

‘Anyway, you don't want me on the case and you say so. What happens?'

‘I get smacked on the wrist, warned off, and get stuck with you anyway.'

‘And because you got your mate to look at my file and ask awkward questions some Glasgow hooligans throw a petrol bomb into your uncle's ice-cream factory. I go and look into it and get put in here. We're not doing very well so far, are we?'

‘You know you're a hard bloke to figure. We're supposed to be working together.'

‘We are working together.'

‘Then why not tell me you'd guessed it was a message from your old friends in London?'

‘And that would have been enough, would it? You'd have settled for my guess and left it alone?'

Ricci took the point.

‘No, probably not.'

‘So I went. Let's leave it at that.'

It wasn't the whole truth, Ricci was sure of that. Jimmy hadn't gone to Glasgow just to confirm what he already knew. There was something else, but whatever it was, it was Jimmy's business so he left well alone.

‘There's one idea I've come up with. Cheng trained for the priesthood in Rome and when he finally comes back, bing, he cops it. Could it be something to do with when he was here doing his training?'

‘No, I don't see it. Training as a priest doesn't make you the sort of connections that get you killed and certainly not thirty years later. I don't say you're wrong, you might have something but I doubt it.'

Ricci doubted it as well.

‘Then that only leaves the Chinese. Cheng has been in China all his working life and at daggers drawn with the authorities. If he was killed the Chinese must have done it or had it done.' Jimmy nodded his head in a tired way. He had nothing better to offer so it had to be the fucking Chinese, besides he was too tired to argue or think of anything else.

‘I suppose so, who else is there?'

‘You should get back into bed, Jimmy. You look as if you've about had enough for one session.'

Jimmy agreed. He tried to stand but didn't quite make it and fell back into the chair. Ricci went to him, took his arm, and managed to get him up and back into bed.

‘Oh Christ, I'm not up to this sort of thing any more. I have my hands full just looking after me, there's not a lot left over for anything else.'

‘You'll feel better in a day or two. You need rest, that's all.'

But Jimmy wasn't convinced.

‘Don't expect too much. I'll do my best but I can't promise my best will be good enough.'

‘You'll do OK once you're fit and well. And remember, you were right about my uncle. I didn't think it through, you did. I thought family, you thought copper. I guess I'm more Italian than I thought I was. Maybe there's not much of the Glaswegian left in me.'

‘Thank God for that, if the Glaswegians I've met are anything to go by. As for thinking family, you made the same mistake anyone would make if one of their own got targeted. If it had been my daughter or her kids in Australia you'd have had to be the one doing the thinking for both of us.'

But Ricci knew Jimmy was just saying words. You didn't help anybody by being sloppy. Being sloppy got people hurt.

He picked up his notes from the bed.

‘You rest, Jimmy, rest and get well and then we'll get back to work properly.'

Jimmy closed his eyes.

‘Maybe. But I tell you something …'

But Jimmy didn't tell Ricci anything. His voice faded and he slept. Ricci waited a moment then left the room closing the door quietly behind him.

Jimmy was a tough old bird all right, but even the toughest wear out eventually.

FIFTEEN

Jimmy was up and dressed, except for his shoes and socks. He couldn't find his shoes. The socks didn't matter so much, he could do without socks but he couldn't go out with no shoes on. He looked under the bed and saw a pair of black lace-ups. His shoes were tan slip-ons. He pulled the shoes out and tried them anyway. They were too small. He threw them on the bed. He opened his locker. It was full of shoes, someone had filled it with shoes, but they were all ladies' shoes. The door opened and the nurse came in. She was Chinese.

‘I need my shoes.'

She smiled and held a pair out to him. They were blue suede platform shoes.

Jimmy took them and the nurse left.

Why had he taken them? Why had she given him them? They couldn't be his shoes.

The door opened and the doctor came in. He was an American and black.

‘You must leave now, Mr Costello. It is time for you to go.'

‘But I can't find my shoes.'

‘Then look for them outside, Mr Costello. Find your shoes somewhere else and then you can go home. You must leave so we can clear up.'

The doctor gestured to the room. It had suddenly become littered with shoes. Jimmy sat down and picked up the nearest one. It was left-hand, laceless, leather boot with a steel toecap. He put it to one side and picked up another. It was a …

Then he woke up.

Of course it had to be the Chinese or Professor McBride, or maybe the bloody pope. Who else was there?

He got out of bed. He felt better. He began to walk and found the pain was almost gone. Yes he definitely felt better. And he wanted his breakfast. He pressed the button by his bed and after a few minutes the nurse appeared. She wasn't black or Chinese.

‘You look better today, Mr Costello, that's good, we were told to take special care of you and see that you made a full recovery.'

‘Yes?'

‘Oh yes, you're a VIP around here.'

‘A VIP? That's nice. What's for breakfast? No, it doesn't matter what it is, just bring it, will you?'

The nurse smiled.

‘Yes, you're better. I'll get you your breakfast.'

‘And can you get me a phone?'

‘No, we don't allow phones in these rooms. Patients in these rooms are supposed to be too ill to make or receive calls.'

‘Then can you make a call for me?' The nurse looked doubtful. ‘It's to Inspector Ricci of the Rome police. He's the one who has been visiting me.'

The nurse smiled.

‘Give me the number.'

Jimmy gave it to her.

‘Tell him I need to see him now. Tell him it's urgent.'

‘Is it?'

‘It is to me.'

The nurse gave him a smile and left; Jimmy resumed his walking.

Why not stick with the Chinese? They would do well enough until someone else turned up. Why not the fucking Chinese?

Jimmy got his breakfast and Ricci turned up an hour later.

‘You said it was urgent.'

‘It is.'

‘OK, I've come running, let's hear it.'

‘When we started this we agreed that all we had to go on was Cheng, right?' Ricci nodded. ‘Well we were wrong. We have something else.'

‘What?'

‘Me.'

‘You?'

‘Me. Whatever's going on I'm part of it. I got dragged in for no reason that I or you could see and when you tried to kick me out you found you couldn't. For some reason I'm part of it.'

It was a thought. It was somewhere to go, something to work on.

‘OK, so how are you connected to Cheng?'

‘I'm not, I can't be.'

‘But you just said …'

‘No, I said I'm part of it, and whatever it is it's not just Cheng's death.'

‘You're sure there's nothing in your past, no common denominator, no link to Cheng?'

‘There's nothing.'

‘Something or someone you know? You have to be connected to Cheng or the Vatican somehow.'

Jimmy shook his head. He lain in bed for longer than he cared to remember and gone down that road, gone as far as it went.

‘No, nothing.'

‘Then it's a brick wall and Cheng is still all we've got.'

‘No it's not.'

‘Why not?'

‘If part of this is about me we need to know, don't we?'

‘If you say so.'

Ricci saw a look that had come into Jimmy's eyes. Not quite the one that had frightened him at their first meeting, but close, too close.

‘So why don't we just ask? Why piss about wasting our time trying to work it out? If we're working for the good guys let's ask them. If they won't tell us, we'll tell them to go and fuck themselves and their investigation.'

Ricci thought of trying his smile and decided against it. Jimmy wasn't going to be lightened up or jollied along on this.

‘They've got you mad at them now, haven't they? You look like you could be a bit of a handful when you're mad.'

The look went out of Jimmy's eyes.

‘Maybe, once, back when Moses was in the fire brigade and Pontius was a pilot. Now I just want to ask the tricky bastards what's going on. Either we're on the same side and we help each other or we're not.'

‘OK, we'll ask. So what do we do, kick in the minister's door and say, “why is Jimmy Costello mixed up in this?”'

‘That's one way but I've got another.'

‘Go on.'

‘What have we got so far on Cheng's death?'

‘Next to nothing.'

‘No, wrong. We've dug around as much as we could and we came up empty. We got nothing and nothing was all we were ever going to get even if we went all over Cheng like a cheap suit. If it was murder then it was done by people who can kill an archbishop in Rome, leave the body lying about, and still be sure of total immunity. There was always going to be nothing to find and we found it.'

‘What are you saying?'

‘Who could do that, kill an archbishop here in Rome and be sure it would never get back to them? Who has that kind of resources?'